


Best Laid Plans

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [23]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen, Jedi Code (Star Wars), Platonic Relationships, Post-Battle of Yavin (Star Wars), Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: For two decades, CS-1701 - better known as Torrent - has been serving the galaxy both as a stormtrooper and as a double agent, passing information to his renegade brothers and sister in Lightning Squadron, now part of the Rebel Alliance. But his luck has finally run out, and he needs a fast extraction. What he doesnotneed is an unannounced visit from a certain Sith. It's a good thing the extraction team isn't exactly unequipped for such situations.
Series: Lightning Strikes [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, this is the follow-up to "Old Friends, New Foes" (Part 19 of _Lightning Strikes_ , Part 6 of _Storms and Rebellions_ ). They might make more sense read together.

“CS-1701?” The voice that addressed Torrent from behind him in the stormtroopers’ locker room was female, with a Core Worlds accent and apparently little emotion, and set off a storm of fears and hopes in the clone’s heart. He had ostensibly been a loyal servant of the Empire for the past twenty years, but it would always be the galaxy’s _people_ he served – which was why he had, for all that time, also passed information to his renegade brothers and sister in Lightning Squadron, and covered their tracks when they couldn’t. It was a dangerous balancing act, and for some time he had known that Alecia Beck of the Imperial Security Bureau was growing suspicious of him. Even an ISB agent of her standing couldn’t bring an accusation without proof, he hoped, but he had served under her on Cyrkon and had no intention of underestimating that woman. Rather than take any chance that could end both his life and his service to his true masters, he had sent the burst transmission he prepared every time he was transferred to a new base, with as much data as any extraction team could conceivably want, asking to be rescued. Then he had destroyed his transmitter, and with it any chance of knowing which would come sooner, liberation or condemnation. This woman could bring either.

Better play this out properly, in either case. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Come with me.” Peremptory, direct, brooking no disobedience. Perfect Imperial arrogance – so easily copied. Hope and fear still vied for his attention.

“May I know why?” Polite, subservient, but making it gently clear that he was a person and not a non-sapient droid. Exactly as he usually did in similar situations. Best not to give any sign that anything was out of the ordinary.

“That will not be necessary. Your duties have already been assigned to others.” Whoever this woman was, she knew him well enough, at least by repute, to forestall his next question. Torrent turned then to see a slim, straight-backed figure in an Imperial lieutenant’s uniform. Female officers were relatively rare, especially on the front lines, but not so rare that he knew every single one by a long chalk. This one was apparently unfamiliar to him. Her skin was the colour of strong caf without a hint of milk, contrasting with her pure white hair, drawn back into a severe bun. The picture of a privileged, committed senior servant of the Empire – until he lowered his gaze a fraction and met her eyes.

They were unusual eyes in themselves, the peculiar shade seen only in Keshians, one of the few non-human species the xenophobic regime allowed into its army, and then only because their eyesight was so useful. One of the aspects of the previous twenty years Torrent had found hardest had been coping with his comrades’ casual prejudice against anyone of a different species. He had seen Jedi from across the galaxy throw themselves into harm’s way to save others regardless of personal cost, and done the same when necessary for anyone of any race or background. His commander in the Clone Wars had been a Pict, and one of the best fighters he had ever seen. But it wasn’t that that caught his attention. It was the intensity of the woman’s gaze, penetrating as a laser but so much kinder in intention. Surely no Imp officer had eyes like that. But he knew someone who did. So, so well, once.

It took him less than a heartbeat to scan back through their conversation. Once he knew what he was after, the signs were there. The slight burr to her _r_ s; the vowels broadened or sharpened in particular ways; the _t_ of _not_ nearly disappearing into the _b_ of _be,_ not so much a glottal stop as a glottal deceleration. An Alban accent, almost but not quite submerged beneath a Coruscant upbringing and peripatetic adulthood. Torrent would have bet at least a month’s salary that the dark skin was neither genetic nor an extreme tan, but cosmetics over a pale, freckled complexion; that the white hair had had its natural red-brown pigment bleached out of it, or hidden by dye; that those eyes behind their coloured contact lenses were a rich golden brown; that the uniform cap concealed ears that curved up to sharp points. His heart was suddenly pounding so hard, he felt it should have echoed around the room. Help had come, in the form of Hel. His old superior, his sister, and his beloved.

She hadn’t troubled to disguise her mouth; it was still full, wide and expressive. Twenty years on from their first and last kisses, he still remembered how that mouth felt against his. He hadn’t kissed anyone else since. He knew it wasn’t what Hel wanted for him; she might be honour-bound to follow her confounded Code, but she wanted him to be happy, to have at least the chance of a wife and family. Some stormtroopers did have significant others, even, rarely, secret spouses and children; others preferred more casual arrangements. It was all strictly against regulations, but as long as there were no security or disciplinary implications the officer corps generally turned a blind eye. Torrent, though, had barely looked at another woman since Hel. He knew it was a standing joke among his subordinates, and when Hel felt safe enough to discuss personal matters in their transmissions she encouraged him to let her go and find someone else. But the memories of her that night on Coruscant and that awful day when everything had changed – deceptively slender arms around his chest, her compact body so strong in his embrace, all the passion she never dared show any other way expressing itself through her kiss – would not fade. It might have been easier if they had, but there had also been times when they had been a spark that kept him going through a dark night of the soul.

No need for that spark now, not with her in front of him, her flame still blazing as fiercely as ever. He tore his eyes from hers with some effort, just long enough to see that there was another stormtrooper behind her. His stance would have been a giveaway to Torrent’s trained eyes even if his helmet’s display hadn’t identified the man as “CT-5555”. Torrent didn’t need to hide his smile, not with his helmet on. Of course. Fives. Spark was presumably somewhere nearby, smuggling their friend AZI-3 out. AZI had been Lightning Seven since their unofficial retrieval mission to Kamino a lifetime before, but he had only been an active member since fleeing the Jedi Temple during the siege. His last “owner”, Shaak Ti, had sent him to find Lightning Squadron when she realised that there was no way out for her. By then, though, the sole legally surviving member of the team had been Torrent. He’d arranged for the droid to be slotted in to his new unit’s medical corps by calling in a few favours, and with the covert help of Commander Cody, who knew perfectly well that all was not as it seemed as regarded the fate of General Helli Abbasa and her men, but wasn’t going to do anything without proof.

As Hel led the way towards the shuttle hangar, by now (to him and Fives alone) clearly aware that he knew who she was, Torrent reflected on how extraordinarily useful that droid had been over the decades. He had been of invaluable assistance to Fives when he investigated his best friend’s mysterious breakdown, eventually stumbling across the conspiracy that culminated in Order 66; he had helped the rest of Lightning Squadron find Fives after his temporary death and subsequent captivity; he had extracted their control chips, although Torrent’s had needed two operations to remove entirely; and he had found ways to counter the accelerated ageing Kamino had built into the clone army, not completely or too obviously, but enough that Torrent had had an easier time avoiding retirement than might otherwise have been the case. And he was a friend. Someone with whom Torrent could discuss the secrets that would get him executed if anyone else in the army found out. AZI had learned discretion since leaving Kamino. And initiative, largely from Fives, who had been encouraged to develop that quality by his commanders, both Jedi and other clones also close to their COs. The effects of putting peacemakers in charge of an army had been predictably unpredictable. The Kaminoans hadn’t known what they were breeding. Nor, quite possibly, had Palpatine.

Lost in thought, Torrent almost walked into Hel when she stopped suddenly, head on one side, listening to the Force. Quietly, so that only they could hear, despite the absence of visible eavesdroppers, she asked, “Were you expecting a high-ranking visitor?”

“Not to my knowledge. Why?” Torrent matched her volume by a careful modulation of his helmet controls.

“Because I’m sensing someone I wish I couldn’t. Sith, if I’m not very much mistaken. Either Sidious or Vader. I’m not sure which would be worse.”

Hel surely wasn’t mistaken. At any rate, Torrent had never known her make such a mistake since their first mission together. Eagle’s death, for which she had partially blamed herself despite her best efforts, had spurred her to develop her Force-senses to a remarkable degree. And Torrent could imagine how a powerful Sith Lord would distort the Force around him.

He adjusted his helmet controls again, using the auditory amplifier that was hardly standard issue, but a necessary tool in his real line of work. What he heard froze his blood. A rhythmic wheezing, hissing sound he had only heard a few times before, but which could not be forgotten. “It’s Vader. Coming closer. I didn’t know he’d be here.”

“Law unto himself, by all accounts.” Hel still had her back to them, but from her posture Torrent could tell she was in full CO mode. To be exact, a CO of a mission where the suspensors had just shorted out, so to speak, running through alternative strategies and selecting the one that would give them the best chance of surviving and completing their mission.

“Torrent, your absence has been noticed.” Fives must be wired in to the base’s internal comms. Spark’s doing, no doubt. He’d always been mad about comms, scanners and anything computer-related. “Hel, do you think Vader’s sensed you?”

“We’d better assume he has. I never did learn how to cloak my Force-presence. I’ll have to track Master Kenobi’s spirit down and rectify that, if I get out of here alive. Okeyday. You two, carry on towards the shuttle. Our pilot’s already in position. Any word from Spark?”

“He checked in just as you picked up Vader’s presence. He and AZI are safely on board.”

“Excellent. Get going. I’ll delay Vader as long as I can.” It was the old I-want-this-done-five-perishing-minutes-ago tone Hel had always used sparingly, only when she really needed it. Neither man argued, or even wished her luck. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

Torrent forced himself to match Fives’ steady pace as they headed for the hangar. Unless he was very much mistaken, his old friend was also fighting the desire to run for the safety and superior firepower of the shuttle, or to stay and help his sister. Probably both. But they both knew they couldn’t do anything against Vader face to face, and running for the ship would guarantee that they never reached it. Their best course of action was to get to that transport without drawing attention to themselves, then come back for Hel.

Which was exactly what they did. Fives filled Spark in on the way over a private comm channel. By the time Lightning Two and Lightning Three had boarded an outwardly conventional Imperial _Sheathipede_ -class shuttle that had clearly been flown or crewed by a keen and gifted artist with no love for the Empire, Lightning Five and Lightning Seven were waiting just inside by the landing ramp, and the pilot – a Rodian woman in Imperial uniform, introduced as Thunder Four, alias Ganodi, one of Helli’s apprentices – was nearly ready for takeoff and had plotted a course that should allow her teacher to reach them without any undue trouble.

As the ship, _Phantom II_ , as it was apparently known, began to rise gracefully into the air and make for the hangar exit, Hel and Vader came into view, sabres locked together. Torrent watched them, hanging on to a handy strap by the still-lowered landing ramp. He’d forgotten just how _good_ his CO was. The sabre was, of course, not his weapon, but there are certain themes common to any type of combat. Hel and Vader seemed to be toying with one another, Vader perhaps out of malice, Hel surely out of a desire not to hurt him if she could help it. Was that just her natural compassion, or had she known him once? He knew Dooku had once been a Jedi. Why not Vader, as well?

He’d have time to ask her that later, he hoped. Without missing a beat, as the shuttle approached she forced Vader back with a stronger parry than he had usually seen even from her, clearing herself just enough space to leap to relative safety. She hadn’t lost any of her old skill there, either. Torrent was ready to steady her as she landed, but saw she didn’t need his help. She watched her opponent narrowly escape a distinctly embarrassing fall as he tried to counterattack against an enemy who was no longer there, then turned back to greet him properly for the first time.

She hadn’t moved on, either. He could see it in her eyes, in the restraint with which she held herself. She had done her duty and kept to the Code, and surely always would, but she also still loved him, and not only as a brother. The desire to act on that feeling must be as strong for her as it was for him, but she mastered it with a visible effort, substituting a verbal greeting. “Hello, _nerra_.”

The Twi’leki word for “brother” was her old nickname for him. A way of marking the specialness of their bond while keeping it within the limits of the Code and their relative positions in the army. He responded in kind. “Hello, _numa_.” _Sister_.

Boundaries re-established, he felt secure enough to wrap his arms around her, as he would were she purely his sister. She reciprocated the gesture in full. For a few precious minutes, nothing existed for the two of them but each other.

Torrent would happily have stayed like that for the rest of eternity, but that wasn’t an option. The embrace ended by mutual consent, replaced by an awkward pause, then progressively less awkward small talk that trailed into companionable silence. As Ganodi steered _Phantom II_ back into realspace and began the descent to the Rebel base, Torrent and Hel stood watching the planet’s surface approach, arms around one another’s shoulders, her head against his neck, AZI peering over her other shoulder. They were together again. The galaxy might be at war once more, but Lightning Squadron was almost as complete as it could be now, despite the tendency of even the best-laid plans to go slightly astray.


End file.
